A Trip Is Always Rehab
by britgirl2003
Summary: ONESHOT. Kirsten fic. Drinking drabble set at the end of season 2.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own The OC or its characters, etc. I also don't own the idea - that belongs to She Loves Shoes. The words are all mine though.

**Summary**: Kirsten fic. Drinking drabble originally posted at LiveJournal.

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Kirsten remembered the first time she was separated from her mom. She was seven years old.

It was summer vacation and her days were packed with games and painting and swimming. No cares or worries; just fun-filled days with her mom while her dad was busy at work.

They had plans to go to the pier on Saturday. There was a funfair in town and her mom had promised to take her. Kirsten wanted to go on all the rides and win a stuffed animal and eat candyfloss. Her friends would all be there and she would spend the day running around the pier with them, while her mom would meet with the Newpsies and catch up on the gossip. She had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Then, suddenly, her mom was taking a trip out of town.

Kirsten had cried. She had begged her mom to stay, but her mom had simply told her that she _had_ to go. So she had pleaded to go with her, but her mom had refused. At seven years old, Kirsten didn't understand.

Her mom had been gone for a week. Kirsten had spent that time waiting for her to come home. Every time the telephone had rung, she had run to answer it, hoping it would be her mom. Every time she had heard the front door, her heart would jump in anticipation of seeing her mom walk into the house.

On one visit to the shops, Kirsten had overheard Taryn's mom talking to another Newpsie. She had paused by the candy bars, reaching up on her tiptoes to peek over the stand, listening intently.

_"I heard she went on a**'trip'** . Did you see her at the hospital benefit last weekend? She was never without a glass in her hand."_

Kirsten hadn't heard any more. Her childminder had pulled her away from the candy, talking about how it would harm her teeth. It had taken five years for Kirsten to understand the meaning of what she had overheard.

When she was twelve, she had accompanied her mom to a Newpsie party. Her dad was out of town on business and her mom didn't want to go alone. Kirsten had been excited, it was the first _"grown-up"_ party she had ever been to. Her mom had bought her a new dress and new shoes for the event, and they had spent the afternoon putting Kirsten's hair in curls. Her mom had even let her wear make-up to the event.

Kirsten could remember feeling nervous as they had walked up the steps to the entrance of the party, gripping her mother's hand like a small child. Her mother had squeezed it lightly and offered her a comforting smile. She had held on to her daughter's hand as they walked through the crowd, and Kirsten had watched her mother in awe as she had greeted everyone who had approached her with a gracious smile. All the time, Kirsten's hand had been held safely in her mothers – held there until the waiter had passed them carrying glasses of champagne.

She felt her mom let go of her hand and had watched as she reached for the first of many glasses that night.

_She was never without a glass in her hand._

Kirsten had experienced it for herself that night. She watched as her mom never faltered; every step as steady as the one before, every word pronounced as succinct as the previous.

But as soon as they were out of public view, everything changed. i She /i changed. The gentle, delicate lady that had been her mother was replaced by a bitter woman, who cursed her husband and her friends and her life. There were no tears – she wasn't upset or distressed. She was just angry. Kirsten had stayed with her until she was sleeping, alone in the king size bed she normally shared with her husband; tracing the frown lines on her mother's face as she slept.

The next morning, Kirsten had woken to find a note from her mom. She had gone out of town – on a trip. This time, Kirsten didn't wait for her to return. At twelve years old, Kirsten was old enough to understand what was going on; but she still didn't understand why.

At forty-two years old, Kirsten finally understood why her mother drank. She understood how it felt to escape from your life, to numb your brain and push all thoughts from your head using a bottle of wine, or vodka.

She looked down the corridor as her sons approached her, seeing the fear and confusion on their faces. She couldn't fight it any more, she knew that. She couldn't fight_them_.

So, she would go out of town on a trip; and everyone in Newport would know.

Because in this town, a trip is always rehab.


End file.
